After one and a half days, we wanted to make our way over to  the west coast in order to spend some quiet days on the Isle of Mull.

The plan was as follows:

In the morning, we will visit Gorgy Farm so that the little one has some fun before sitting in the car (estimated time in the car: 3 hours during which she is supposed to do a long lunch nap). At noon, we will pick up our friend at the airport, pick up our rental car and start driving through the Trossachs National Park. We will have plenty of time which will allow us one or two nice breaks (maybe a short walk?) and a quick visit of a supermarket to buy some food for the evening. At 6pm we will be on the ferry and enjoy the short ride. Then we’ll only need to drive for another 45 minutes and we will arrive at our B&B.

That was the plan.

Here’s the reality:

We went to Gorgy Farm where we had a fun stay. The little one was even asked to act as a photo model as two newspaper photographers wanted to have a picture of children planting flowers. Since this is what she normally does when we are in the garden, she immediately picked up a shovel and a rake and started to work in the flower beds (very much to my amusement), and was only slightly confused by the sounds of the camera which was clicking non-stop.

On time, we were making our way back to our place, picked up our luggage and took the tram to the airport. As the little one has entered her “I want to do everything by myself and do everything you guys do-phase”, I opened her stroller so that she can sit down on one of the seats. And then it happened. The tram accelerated while the little one was still walking to her seat, she stumbled and fell and hit her head on one of the hand rails. Normally, that would have been not more than a big bruise. But she hit her forehead.

And she hit it on the exact same spot where she was stitched four weeks ago.

…(please insert a screaming child and lots of blood)…

I still can’t believe that we were in the exact same situation, exactly four weeks later, on the exact same day and even the exact same time.

Luckily, I am adaptive. So I professionally took out a bandage and a clean pad and applied a pressure bandage (Dr. Freddie, pleased to meet you!). But I also instantly knew that we would need at least some glueing (and yes, I indeed thought about buying some glue for the next time so I can simply skip the emergency unit, but then again one doesn’t want to risk anything, does one?).

We went to the airport and I was still hoping that they might have a first aid kit which might provide enough help to let us go to Mull. Unfortunately, the first aid help didn’t make it any better…the little one was screaming, her head was bleeding and the first aid woman wasn’t able to apply butterfly thingies because of all the blood. So we put the bandage back on, picked up our friend, picked up the car and went to the nearest hospital. In between, I went to  the bathroom to allow myself a little breakdown (it broke my heart to see the little one in this situation again, and I feel that my limit of injuries I can deal with is reached. Hormones played a role as well, I guess).

At the hospital, we were already warned: waiting time was one to one-and-a-half hours. We were all the more pleasantly surprised when we were called just 45 minutes after our arrival. But it was only the nurse who wanted to check on the little one and check her blood pressure (which she couldn’t because the little one was too upset). After that we were allowed in the children room and waited and waited and waited. All of us had an improvised lunch and I was happy to find a chocolate vending machine because that was just what I needed. I was also glad that I had the company of Karsten and our friends this  time! But all of us where not happy at all to see the time flying, especially not because, with some help of our friends in Switzerland (there is no WiFi in the emergency unit), we found out that we had to be at the ferry latest at 5:30pm, otherwise our seats would go to the cars on the waiting list. We also found out that all the other ferries for the next days were completely booked due to a rugby tournament on Mull. Conclusion: Either we make it there until 5:30pm or we can cancel our holiday.

After 1,5 hours of waiting we got nervous.

After 2 hours of waiting we slightly panicked.

The little one was fine, apart from the whole in her head and the lack of a lunch nap.

 Finally, we tried to explain our situation to the nurses (and also that we thought that the wound would just need some glueing). And we were lucky: apparently we looked desperate enough that the little one was checked after ten more minutes.

Drama! Screaming child, three people to hold her still, glueing (no anesthesia this time), butterfly clips and finally vomiting due to a piece of chocolate that the little one ate before. It almost broke my heart again. Completely sweaty and on the edge of our nerves (both parents and child), we left the emergency unit shortly after three.

Our satnav’s estimated arrival time at  the ferry terminal in Oban: 6:15pm.

Nonetheless, we started driving. The little one fell asleep – long overdue and after such an excitement extremely necessary!

After one hour, our satnav estimated our arrival time around 6:00pm.

Our friend was doing a great job driving as fast as possible, although it must have been quite challenging due to the left-hand-traffic. All of us on the back seats got relatively quiet after a while…gee, those Scottish streets are windy!

A little later, our estimated arrival time was 5:45pm. And that was it. We didn’t manage to get there any sooner. We called the ferry company to tell that we are definitely coming, so please, oh please don’t give our seats away! They couldn’t promise anything. The last 30 minutes were nerve-wracking, I tell you. We were on tenterhooks. Traffic lights turned red. Slow cars ahead of us. But finally, finally we made it to the ferry. And the ferry was 20 minutes late anyway (which no one cared to inform us of when we were calling).

The ferry ride in the evening sun was beautiful. The drive to the B&B windy. The back seat team stared out of the window to be distracted from a constant feeling of nausea. We somehow forgot to buy some food, but had a sandwich and some cheese for the little for dinner. And later than planned we arrived at the B&B.

It took another hour until the little one was finally sleeping. And then our B&B host was incredibly kind and welcoming and let us share her family’s dinner. We were finally sitting at the table, in front of crackling fireside, with self-made pizza, soup and pesto bread. Breeeeaaath.

This evening, I felt old for the first time in my life.